The Cosmos, in B Minor
by Cameron Kennedy
Summary: The Boogeyman. The Nightmare King. Pitch Black. No matter what name he's known by, he's always been written off as evil, untrustworthy, and hopeless. But when Jack thinks he's seen a flicker of humanity under the shadowy surface, he takes a daring chance - and he could never have predicted where his curiosity would lead them.
1. Flames

**Alternate Summary:** In which Pitch may or may not be as scary as he looks, and Jack (being Jack) tries to befriend him as a consequence. Set approximately three years after the movie; bonus overlying plot included.

**Notes:** This chapter is more of an introduction to the plot material than anything, but it's vitally important and can't be left out. Have fun.  
(Also, happy early birthday to chibistar12; let there be cake.)

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of trademarks or copyrights used, nor do I claim ownership of anything related to _Rise of the Guardians_.

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**The Cosmos, in B Minor**

_1. Flames_

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It began with a fire, and it was completely by accident that he was even there.

First off, it was very late Christmas Eve. It could have easily been Christmas morning, actually, but that was a minor detail that didn't really matter to either Nicholas St. North or Jack Frost. It was dark and difficult to know what time it actually was, and therefore it made the fire just that much more obvious.

The date was the rather unique part of the incident, but it was no more important than the second thing: the weather that winter had been incredibly dry and not well suited for snow and ice. That was why Jack was there—North had convinced him to fly alongside the sleigh while delivering presents and at least try to give the kids a White Christmas.

"It really boost their morale, you know?" North had pointed out in his booming voice, back in his private workshop. At the time, he'd been modeling another one of his little ice sculptures; there were already at least ten other beautiful ice toys in motion around the room, and—rather unusually—the yetis hadn't smashed one yet. Jack had been sitting on a tall stool across the table and leaning on his staff, watching the elder Guardian with fascination and occasionally frosting over the edges of the ice to smooth it out. North continued, "The children like their Christmases to have a lot of snow."

Jack only had to remember all the children he played with and the joy on their faces upon seeing snowflakes to know that North was absolutely right. He blew lightly on the sculptures, crinkling the air with cold, before joking, "Maybe I was going to... you know... take a break. Go to a Christmas party instead. Drink some eggnog."

North raised an eyebrow in jest; his belly shook with unvoiced amusement and he set down his small tools. "Oh? And I am not enough _party_ for you?"

Jack almost chuckled, but then his laughter was suddenly caught in his throat as North gently touched the tip of his creation. This time the elder Guardian had carved out a ballet dancer, reminiscent of a music box, and with the slight push of magic she began to dance her miniature routine across the ancient table.

North brushed his hands and sat back to watch Jack's entranced expression as he observed this new plaything. "Now you still think I am no fun?"

The boy barely even blinked, and he subconsciously leaned forward in his seat. "I never said _that_," Jack corrected.

His eyes never strayed from the ballerina, and North certainly noticed. "I can make you one for your own—if you come."

"...Okay," Jack admitted, "you may have me sold on this one." He knew that a dancing sculpture was hardly worth losing his cool over, especially at his age... but there was a memory connected with this instance. He could vaguely recall that his sister had loved to dance, although it felt like he hadn't remembered that until that very moment. There was a sudden soreness that came upon him suddenly as he could nearly feel her hands still in his and what her laughter sounded like—yes, he definitely wanted a sculpture just like that, so he could keep that feeling close.

"You may be coming? _May_?" North reiterated, his eyes twinkling.

The young Guardian rolled his eyes, his mouth hinting at a smile. "Fine, you _do_ have me sold. Just don't blame me if I can't force any snow to fall."

* * *

Unfortunately, that seemed to be the case.

"Are you even_ trying_?" North joked as he came up a chimney. He seemed to become more jolly by the minute, what with all of the treats he was finding and toys he was dispersing.

Jack, regrettably, wasn't feeling the same way. They were in Ohio then, and he felt irritably unsuccessful. "Of course I'm trying!" Jack waved his staff along the rooftop, but it seemed like a waste of energy. There was barely even any frost as evidence of his efforts. "It's too dry—there's just no water in this air to get moisture from. I'm a _cold_ spirit, you know, not a straight-up element manipulator—"

"Ach," North waved his attitude off. "It's not your fault. Maybe if you fly a little bit ahead, you will have more success?"

Jack considered that briefly before realizing what it meant; abruptly, he was grinning. "Sure thing! Burgess is the next town, right?"

"Hah! It is now!" North was already halfway down another chimney-shoot, but before he completely disappeared Jack swore that he winked. That was enough of a sign for Jack, and after a short victory dance he jumped upward into the wind.

For two and a half minutes, everything was perfect. Jack's eyes were closed as he drifted comfortably along, the biting temperatures not bothering him in the least. He always loved flying at night like this, because it gave him time to think. Particularly since it was Christmas Eve (or early Christmas morning, perhaps) it was imaginative bliss—he'd get to bring Jamie and his friends some snow, and they'd have a snowball fight, and they'd go sledding on that toboggan that he _knew_ was in North's sleigh, and—

...What was that?

Jack's eyelids fluttered. Something suddenly felt very... off. The air didn't seem quite so cold, nor quite so pure—but whatever was strange didn't seem to register. He glanced around and righted himself as the wind carried him, frowning. His surroundings in the covering clouds didn't look abnormal, but when he breathed in he abruptly realized he could smell it.

Smoke.

There was a fire somewhere—somewhere close. And it must have been big, because the stench of it abruptly hit Jack like a slap to the face. There was a fire? Could it be a house, or another important building? He felt his immortal blood pounding in his ears as it occurred to him that the children of Burgess very well could be in danger—his _friends_ could be in danger!—and without a second thought he ducked below the clouds.

Shortly above a telephone pole, he caught himself in the air—and the fire only took a split second to find. He slid gracefully along the wires, trying to analyze the situation and get a better look. It was a home fire, and he subconsciously hurried forward on his toes as his stomach dropped. Yes, it was in the residential part of town; the house was almost entirely encompassed, terrible beacon in the night, and Jack's eyes widened when he realized that he knew _exactly_ which city block it was sitting on. Was he seeing things correctly? That wasn't Brady's house, and it wasn't Cupcake's, nor Emily and Kate's, but rather it was—

"NO!" Jack sprang off of the phone wires faster than a rocket. "_JAMIE! SOPHIE!_"

In seconds he was there, and, upon arrival, he almost plunged into the ground when an explosion came from the garage and startled him. Righting himself rather breathlessly, he suddenly realized that he wasn't the only person there, either; there was a small crowd of horrified observers, many of whom Jack recognized as neighbors and close friends from around town. They were all standing a good distance away from the blaze, and Jack rightly followed their example as he felt the extreme heat.

But _where were Jamie and Sophie? Where were their parents?_ Jack felt that he could barely be heard over the roaring fire, but he had to try. "JAMIE!" he nearly screamed above the people, frantically turning in all directions and looking for _any_ member of the Bennett family. "JAMIE! SOPHIE!"

Nobody heard him, and nobody seemed to see him; Jack had to fight down that flare of loneliness he'd felt for 300 years of his life. His gaze swept over the crowd again, and again and again, and—there! He swooped in closer, almost entirely silent compared to the hideous cackling of wood and insulation. There were Mr. and Mrs. Bennett without a scratch, holding to each other tightly, and there was Jamie looking absolutely _terrified_, but—

"Oh no," Jack whispered in horror. He turned around and faced the blaze. "Oh _no_!"

Sophie was still trapped inside. _Sophie was still trapped inside!_ It was like her known life suddenly flashed before Jack's eyes: she was about seven by now, and she loved to play with dolls and make snowmen with her brother and Jack, and she had been the saddest when their dog Abby had died the year prior, and—and if _she_ were to die, it would be _devastating_.

And who was Jack kidding? She wasn't going to die on his watch—Guardians weren't meant to interfere in situations like this, but he didn't care whether or not saving lives was a part of his job description! He was her _friend_!

But what could he do? What were his choices? He briefly considered the logical options: fight the fire with ice, call for help, or go into the inferno himself... But he couldn't make ice in this weather! The air was too dry already, and there wasn't a chance in the world that he could find moisture in the air next to a fire like that. He also seriously considered calling the other Guardians for help, but it took a mere moment before he realized that they would arrive far, far too late to make any sort of difference.

So Jack Frost, a winter spirit, then made the logical deduction that he was going to have to dive headfirst into searing hot flames to save Sophie Bennett.

Well, _crap_.

Letting out a rare curse under his breath, Jack sprang into the air, flew over the house, and wasted no more time hooking his staff in a pine tree; he didn't want to risk losing it in the flames, and he was almost certain that it wouldn't be of any use once inside the fire anyway. As he looked over the engulfed home, he analyzed how to get in and get out immediately, because he knew it was _not_ going to be fun. Sophie would most likely be in her bedroom; quickly identifying the correct window, he cleared his head, breathed in, breathed out, breathed in one last time, and forcefully propelled his body forward into the fire before he could change his mind.

Three seconds later—after he broke the glass, hit the hardwood, and inhaled all the smoke—he started to realize a bit too late that his plan was incredibly _stupid_. He derived his strength from the cold, but the intense heat was a stronger punch to his gut than he could have ever prepared himself for. He sputtered and coughed for a moment, keeping his body low on the floor, and once his throat was cleared he shouted, "_Sophie! SOPHIE!_" He couldn't see much, but he could see that her room was a mess of melting toys and sparks and smoke and shadows—where could she be? Jack heaved out the smoke again with more violent coughing, hitting his hand on his chest to try and help his lungs expel the poison air, and he crawled forward and searched for her in vain. "_SOPHIE! SOPHIE!_" he yelled into the fire. She _couldn't_ be dead! She had to be there somewhere—

He heard weak coughing in the corner. "J-Jack?" a small voice gasped.

That was all the encouragement he needed; Jack was moving in a flash, scrambling towards the little voice and—oh, thank the heavens, it _was_ Sophie! She looked like a mess, with soot and bits of ash all over her blonde hair and pajamas, but _she was alive!_

"_Sophie!_" Jack's brotherly instinct took over and he gathered the girl up in his arms. He coughed again before hoarsely adding, "Let's get you out of here!"

Sophie clung to him tightly, her eyes so wide it looked like they could fall right out of her skull. She didn't fight his attempts at burying her into his shoulder. "You feel so cool," she muttered into his clothes.

Funny. Jack was feeling nowhere _near_ cool at the moment. It was far, far too hot in the fire, and he felt like collapsing any moment from the heat. For the first time in his whole immortal life, he felt sweat crawling down his brow and back. And his feet—his feet alone felt like they were aflame, and he was almost certain that they would be badly burnt if he were to look at them in that moment. _Cool?_ Jack knew he was anything _but_ cool, and they were running out of time. He didn't respond to Sophie but rather groaned, as his muscles seemed to become weaker and weaker as his power drowned in the flames. He still held her to his hoodie as closely as possible, and he used his other limbs to sluggishly backtrack towards the window. He was _not_ going to let her die that night, although his body screamed in protest.

Then, the worst nearly happened.

He heard the cracking before he saw it; completely on instinct, he wrapped his limbs around Sophie just as a burning chunk of the house came crashing down nearby. Adrenaline and fear coursed through his veins as it missed them by a few inches, and with a yelp Jack backed them into a wall. One second later, as the immediate sparks died down, he squinted through the carnage and came to a horrible conclusion. They were _trapped_—the path to the window was blocked, and Sophie was openly sobbing on his shoulder, and Jack's brain was going numb from the smoke and heat—

"_JACK!_" Sophie suddenly shrieked.

For a moment nothing registered as being wrong, but then the blatant answer came to him as he realized they were being _lifted into the air_. He expelled a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, grabbing onto Sophie tighter as it really registered that they were _suspended_ above the hot floor. Some increasingly slow part of his brain realized that this was not a normal thing, but before he could really ask himself what it meant, they were literally being tossed forward and flying out the window, through the air, and straight towards a pine tree—

"HOLD ON!" he ordered, twisting them midair and curling into a ball around the little girl. Sophie somehow _did_ hold onto him even tighter, and he thought he heard her scream over the air rushing past his ears.

With a dull thud, Jack's spine hit the tree's upper trunk some 20 feet above the ground; he may have accidentally gasped in pain, but he was too preoccupied with suddenly grasping at the branches to notice. They were slipping and sliding downward through the prickly needles, and Sophie was going to fall out of his arms at any moment and hurt herself on the ground—

There! Jack had suddenly managed to clutch onto his familiar old staff, and their descent came to a complete stop. For the first time since getting out of that house, he allowed himself to gulp the night air down like a drug, and he abruptly felt woozy from the temperature change. "_Down_," he whispered to the night wind, and he felt them slowly drifting closer to the grass. Gently, he held onto the staff with one arm and cradled Sophie with the other as he closed his eyes with exhaustion. They were safe and a good distance from the fire, thank the greater powers that be.

Even as his feet touched the ground (the stinging that came with it confirmed that yes, he must have badly burnt his feet), he didn't fight the feeling and instead let his whole body go limp onto the grass. It was much harder to keep his face neutral and free of pain than he'd anticipated. Yikes, he must have hit his back with more force than he'd thought; it hurt _terribly_, even as he lay there in the cool dirt.

Sophie's ragged sobbing calmed down after only a short time, although she was still coughing violently; she shook him a bit, and Jack's eyelids fluttered. "Jack!" she said. Her voice was awfully loud in his ear, and her throat sounded incredibly scratchy to him. "Jack! A-are you—you okay?"

He tried to swallow some more of the cool night air; abruptly he felt more tired than he could ever remember in his long life. "Go find your parents," he mumbled, focusing his half-lidded eyes on the dim stars far above them in an attempt to stay awake. "I'll... I'll be fine."

Sophie gasped and coughed again. "Mommy! Daddy!" Jack heard her stumbling away, still breathing raggedly, and he vaguely wondered if he should call out to her again—but his initial fear was calmed when he heard shouts of exclamation and joy nearby. They'd found her; she was safe.

His momentary peace of mind was interrupted as his own cough rattled his lungs and hurt his spine. He grimaced to himself, and he briefly considered trying to get up and move somewhere less exposed. But then again, North would probably arrive soon... and it couldn't hurt to try... and sleep for... just a... few minutes...

Perhaps it registered to Jack that there was a pair of golden eyes watching him from the shadows before his eyes closed—but if it did, it was too late to stop the exhaustion he felt as he succumbed to the dark world of dreams.


	2. Flickers

**Notes:** Since I've returned to a certain institution called "college," I have no idea when the next update will come. But never fear; I fully intend to finish this story.  
Thank you all for the great responses! Keep 'em coming!

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**The Cosmos, in B Minor**

_2. Flickers_

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Although the Guardians weren't generally too worried about others of their kind, once in a while an incident would happen that would gather them all together. Not counting the fiasco with Pitch a few years prior, it hadn't happened for a few decades—since Easter Sunday of 1968, actually—and otherwise the Guardians would only meet collectively for occasional holiday parties and vacations.

However, this was the first time any of them could remember any serious injury befalling a Guardian like this; granted, they didn't see Jack's state as being mortally wounded or anything of the sort, but there certainly wasn't any chance of them neglecting him and leaving him on his own. So, while North was obligated to finish delivering his gifts, the other three Guardians saw it as their duty to take Jack to North's place and make sure he was going to be fine.

But then again, maybe calling _all_ the Guardians hadn't been the best idea.

"_Bunny!_" The Pooka had barely stepped out of the room where the youngest of them was resting when Toothiana practically attacked him with rushed questions and half-crossed eyes. "HowisJack? Ishealright? Isheburnedverymuch? Whatishi—?"

"Crikey, Tooth!" Bunnymund normally had no problem with Tooth or her personality, but when she was worried, she became too tightly wound and rather irritating. "_Calm down!_" he ordered more quietly. "You'll wake him up!"

She stopped trying to inch her way around her fellow Guardian and immediately clasped her hands over her mouth, an apologetic look on her face. "Oh! Sorry!" she whispered. "But _how is he? _You were in there for a really long time!"

Surprisingly, Bunny didn't retort sarcastically, but he did roll his eyes and shut the door quietly behind him. He announced to her then: "He's got a tiny fever, he messed up his back somehow, he's a little singed on the ends of his hair, and the bottoms of his feet look downright scorched."

"Oh _no_!" If the tremor in her voice didn't make her concern obvious enough, it was certainly conveyed in her nervous flitting about. She seemed to be looking around the workshop for some sort of solution to the description Bunny had presented. "Do we have any idea _how_ to fix any of—?"

"We're at the_ North Pole_ in the _dead of winter_," Bunny pointed out in deadpan, folding his arms over his chest. "He'll cool down in no time since I left the window open a bit, and if I can't fix something then I know there are plenty of others who can. These yetis running around know how to deal with all sorts of odd injuries—bloody elves have prepared them for this kind of thing."

"But—he _is_ okay, right?"

He sighed. "Frosty's fine. He'll be flying around again in... maybe two days."

Tooth's expression had become more relaxed until she heard that last bit. Her wings suddenly came to life again and a rather puzzled and frightened look came to her. "Two _days_?" she gaped. "That's a bit soon to be fully healed, don't you think?"

Bunny shook his head lightly at her aggravation and began to stroll down the corridor, towards North's comfiest chairs and large hearth. It was abnormally quiet there by the workshop, being Christmas day and a time to neglect work; it was so quiet he could hear his large paws settling onto the floor when he stepped. Tooth followed behind closely, and so he knew she was listening when he responded, "Well, I said that he'll be_ flying around_ again, not that all of his boo-boos are going to be better."

She looked aghast. "But Bunny! That's not going to—"

"You can_ try_ to tell him to stay in bed longer than that, but mate, this is _Jack_," he snapped. "I highly doubt he's going to listen."

She bit her lip, feathers smoothing down, and Bunny recognized it as a silent sign of admittance. "I... suppose."

At that he paused, and more gently he looked at the floor, clearing his throat with embarrassment. "Sorry, I... I sounded kind of harsh, didn't I?" he asked.

Tooth perked up a little at that; she smiled, forgiving. "Oh, it's alright." She put a hand softly on his shoulder to reassure him she meant it. "We're all a little stressed, what with Jack flinging himself into a house fire like that."

Bunny also looked up at her excuse, and he managed to laugh under his breath a little. "That dumb kid—jeez, that was so incredibly _stupid_ of him—"

"Yet very brave," Tooth calmly finished, the ghost of a smile still on her lips. "I would have been scared out of my wits if I'd been there."

With a small hum of acknowledgement, Bunny shrugged her hand away. "You should have seen him when I dragged him here. He kept mumbling questions about Jamie and trying to ask how many ears I had. I don't know what the devil was floating around in his brain, but he refused to shut up and sleep for the longest time—"

As he spoke, something seemed to occur to Tooth, and her eyebrows delicately furrowed as she cut him off. "Oh, that reminds me! Isn't Sandy here somewhere?"

"Probably. I think he's over by the fireplace," Bunny offered with a vague hand gesture. "He's going to try and give Frosty some good dreams once he senses the kid is out for good. Maybe he'll be up in time for the party—oh look, there's Sandy now."

Almost before he had completed that thought, the Sandman himself appeared in the hallway; his normally cheerful countenance was instead replaced with a quizzical expression. He was casting out a line of his sand on a golden fishing rod in the direction of Jack's room—apparently he was feeling creative at that moment—and fiddling with the pole.

"Hello Sandy," Bunny and Tooth greeted in unison.

Sandy didn't look at them, rather strangely, although he continued to adjust the makeshift contraption in his hands; instead he reeled in the whole line and cast out again. And again. And again. Little curls of sandy steam were expelled from his ears, and his mouth was squeezed into a tight line of irritation.

"Something wrong, mate?" Bunny asked, glancing back at the door they had been standing by minutes ago. Nothing looked out of place from the outside—maybe it was more difficult to get immortals to dream or something...

A question mark appeared above Sandy's head as he also stared at the closed door. He bit his lip and no longer looked irritated as much as he looked... confused. Abruptly the rod and line disappeared as the small Guardian floated above their heads and down the hallway whence Bunny and Tooth had come moments ago.

"Uh oh," Tooth said, flitting after him. Bunny followed quickly, rather inclined to agree that Sandy had discovered something wrong. Perhaps Jack had woken up?

Against his naturally lax nature, Sandy opened the door rather quickly when he arrived. Immediately several large exclamation points sprang out of his head, along with multiple arrows that screamed in their silence, _Something is really, really not right here!_

"_Now_ what?" Bunny groaned. He'd _just_ gotten Jack comfortable and asleep after almost a full hour of bandaging. He wondered if that troublemaker would be evil enough to pull something off for attention now—as he bounded towards the room, he promised himself that if the winter spirit was pulling a joke then blood would be shed.

As it turns out, there was no joke. As he and Tooth found out only seconds later, Jack wasn't asleep, in pain, or wanting company. Instead, they all found a dark room, a conspicuously wide-open window (that _had_ only been opened a little to try and control his fever) and no sign of Jack Frost.

"Well," Tooth tried to joke, "it looks like two days is a _little_ too long for him to stay in bed."

Sandy's hand made a curious noise when it smacked itself against his forehead. The Pooka clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes at the stupidity of it all.

"I," Bunny solemnly promised, "am going to _murder_ him."

* * *

Jack didn't really see it as his fault that he didn't like being cooped up in a room for very long, nor did he see it as his fault that he didn't like being _babied_. Bunnymund may have thought it a necessary thing to do (although it was doubtful that he thought of it as babying), but Jack just wasn't used to it. He'd been on his own for too long, and he'd become accustomed to taking care of his problems all by himself; it wasn't that he felt ungrateful to his friends for their worrying, but constant attention from them wasn't something he craved at the moment. He'd gotten plenty of attention when North had called Bunny there to take him to the Pole, much of it revolving around Bunny ordering him to sit still and calling him a "bloody dill"—after that subjection, he wasn't interested in making any more of a fuss (especially when they expected him to _sleep_; he'd already gotten in a nap before North had found him on the ground, anyway).

This is how he found himself hanging by his legs from a tree, near the familiar pond just outside of Burgess' city limits.

He exhaled and tried to relax, gripping his staff tightly with both hands as if he were a trapeze artist. Glancing upward at his legs curled around the branch, he said to the air, "Okay wind... I really, _really_ need to get this kink out of my back, so if you could try to stretch me downward a little bit, that would be awesome."

He sensed the breeze pick up around him, and he kept his arms stiff and steady as he felt the air tugging his upper body towards the ground. He winced_—_it stretched his sore muscles rather uncomfortably_—_but as his torso slowly extended he heard a thick _crack_ in his spine, and he sighed at the sudden relief that came with lost tension.

"Okay, that's good enough," he said, to nobody in particular. He hoisted himself upward and shifted so he was sitting contentedly on the branch, leaning against his staff and coughing a bit into his arm (although his lungs did feel much better, thank goodness). It was almost dark, probably about seven in the morning_—_the streetlights in town were beginning to flicker off, and Jack could see their glow dimly reflected in the atmosphere above. Christmas Day was about to begin, and it wasn't snowy _at all_. He frowned in disdain to himself, knowing that the weather was still uncooperative and dry. He supposed he could attempt to at least frost the ground, but then again, he still had a slight fever and probably shouldn't exert himself at the moment; he made a mental note to go sleep it off in a snowbank somewhere in Canada.

But there was something he had to do first.

He hopped out of the tree and caught himself in the air just before his feet touched the ground. He'd already discovered sometime earlier that putting pressure on burnt feet, even with bandages and ointment applied, was _not_ a pleasant sensation in the slightest. Gently using his staff and the soft support of the wind, he floated contentedly above the pond for only a moment; then, as if it was a signal of some sort, he nodded, and the breeze picked him up and carried him away.

* * *

It didn't take too long to find exactly the child he was looking for.

Jamie Bennett was sitting outside on the porch steps of what was probably an aunt's house, his arms curled around his knees and his eyelids drooping. Knowing what a miserable Christmas morning he'd had thus far, the Guardian couldn't blame him in the least for looking so worn; it had been almost certainly been several long and tiring hours for his entire family. Jamie shifted a little and almost fell asleep as Jack came closer; it looked like he was outside because he was waiting for something to happen, and Jack was more than willing to oblige and brighten up the poor kid's day.

If Jamie noticed that the wintry spirit was hovering above the ground only several feet away, he certainly didn't react to it. "Hey Jamie," Jack cautiously said, sliding to his knees in the cool grass and ignoring the awkward feeling that came with bending his feet.

Immediately after he'd spoken, Jamie's head shot up; he gasped with surprise, and all the signs of weariness that Jack had noticed were gone in an instant. "_Jack!_"

The Guardian knew that it was coming, and so he held out his arms widely and grinned as the boy bolted up and almost crushed him in a hug. Jeez, Jamie was getting strong_—_was he eleven now, or twelve? It seemed like he was bigger and bigger every time Jack saw him, and along with it came the faint sense of desperation that Jamie was growing up. Jack forced himself to squash the feeling, and instead he returned Jamie's hug tenfold. "Merry Christmas," he murmured into Jamie's sweater.

Jamie didn't respond immediately, shaking instead and gripping his friend even more tightly. He seemed to be gasping for air, and_—_"Jamie?" Jack asked, almost stunned with realization. "Are you _crying_?"

There wasn't an answer voiced, but a sudden sob replied for him instead. Jack almost let go of the hug; Jamie _was_ crying. "H-hey, um... it's gonna be okay," Jack softly said, rubbing his hand along the boy's back___—_that had always worked with his sister, and after a moment it seemed to work for Jamie as well. "It's alright," he repeated. "I know that this is upsetting and_—_and probably more than a little scary, and I'm sorry that it happened on Christmas, but—"

"You _saved_ her," Jamie interrupted.

"I... what?"

"_You saved Sophie_," he repeated; it sounded as though he was nearly choking on the words.

Jack blinked, and he felt his jaw drop slightly with astonishment. Even with all the things that Jamie could have become upset about—between losing his house, being scared to death, and almost missing Christmas—he was crying with _happiness_? Another sort of pain shot through Jack's chest, but this one didn't last long and instead lodged itself firmly in his throat as he managed to say, "Well... yeah! As soon as I smelled the smoke, I was _there_. How did you know that I was...?" He had thought that Jamie would have been to preoccupied to notice him at the site of the fire, and he was fairly sure that that Bunny and North were at least a little more subtle than that_—_

"Sophie told me, o-of course!" Jamie pulled away a little, his eyes a bit puffier than normal and his voice still shaking slightly; at least he'd stopped crying outright. "She's i-in the hospital right now with dad, b-because she breathed in a lot of smoke, but she's alive _because of you._"

Jack leaned back slightly onto his calves, grasping Jamie by the shoulders and just looking at him, _really_ looking at him with intent, trying to burn that moment into his memory. "I... well..." For the first time in a long time, he was completely and utterly without words; finally, he managed to smile and utter a simple, "No problem."

He was abruptly pushed back again as Jamie moved forward into another hug; this time, however, Jamie's tight grip landed in the precisely wrong spot on the hollow of his spine, and Jack accidentally let out a low hiss.

Jamie let go, startled for a moment before his eyes widened in realization as he closely looked Jack over from head to foot. "Are you okay?—You're hurt! _Your feet are hurt_!"

"And my back," Jack added nonchalantly, twisting and trying to remove the kink again. Something popped loudly, and he cringed again at the sensation. "_Ouch._"

The boy's eyes were still incredibly wide, and it looked like he was on the verge of panic. "Is there something I can—"

"_No_," he quickly interrupted, putting a firm hand on Jamie's shoulder once more. "Don't you _dare_ try to—to—to _coddle_ me, Jamie Bennett!" A bit more gently, he explained, "I've already gotten _plenty_ of that from the Easter Bunny today, and if someone else tries to tuck me in bed I think I'm going to scream."

"...Oh." Jamie seemed to relax when he realized that his friend had already been thoroughly looked over and fixed up, so instead he sighed with notable relief and sat down on the ground instead. "O-okay then. I won't worry."

"Good boy."

"I'm not a _dog_," Jamie whined, a smile slowly coming to his face. Jack responded by tousling his brown hair; Jamie stuck out his tongue and smacked the Guardian's hand away. He laughed a little breathlessly and abruptly added, "Gosh, I'm glad you're both okay. Things could have been so much worse if you and Pitch hadn't been there."

"Yeah, I—"

Wait. What? _What?_

It was one of those awkward moments where Jack almost had to pinch himself and ask if he was dreaming; he decided that it was a stupid idea, though, and so next he wondered if immortal spirits could lose their hearing in time. It was painfully obvious to Jack that he was staring at Jamie, temporarily dumbfounded, because he'd said something about Pitch. Meaning Pitch Black. The Boogeyman. The Nightmare King. The immortal that hid under beds and scared children. And... What was it that Jamie had said? _Pitch had been at the house_? At the fire? Doing _what_? Jack felt like some vital part of his brain had broken—not just because Jamie had brought Pitch up when he did, but because Jamie had said that_ it could have been so much worse if he hadn't been there._

_What?!_

Jamie had obviously noted the curious expression that had come over the Guardian's face, and he looked intently at him trying to figure out what was wrong. "Jack...? Are you okay?"

He shifted back on his legs. He blinked. He opened his mouth, and then he closed it just as quickly. When Jack found his voice again, it seemed unnaturally higher than normal and a bit strained, and he was fairly certain this had nothing to do with smoke inhalation. "Pitch was _there_?"

"Well... that's what Sophie said."

"And she was _sure_?" The skepticism and confusion in his voice was so thick it made his throat raw.

The boy scratched his head. "She said that she saw a creepy tall man with golden eyes, yeah. She sounded sure to me, and I kind of remember seeing that guy before—he's the Boogeyman, right?"

Jack still stared, not entirely sure how he should have been reacting to news like this.

Jamie bit his lip before continuing, "She said that, um, that a part of the roof fell in and that you almost got hit, but Pitch was there in the smoke and he threw you out the window."

Jack blinked, again. Pitch had thrown them out of the fire and _saved them_? But... _but_...

Why would Pitch, of all people, bother to save Jack Frost—_his enemy_—and a little girl named Sophie Bennett?


End file.
